Introspective Of A Genius
by Spy'd R
Summary: A journey into Sherlock's mind, before and after he met John.
1. Chapter 1

**No fluff, not even Johnlock. At least not yet. Set before/ during "A study in Pink". Enjoy, review, give ideas! Thanks! :3**

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I look into the mirror. A frown appears on the mirror-inverted face. It is nothing but transport for my mind, and yet I don't feel alright; weak. I should probably consider eating something. I have just successfully solved a case, so there is now room in my mind for my body's needs. I shake my head. I know I have to eat something, to end the hunger-induced weakness. Memories from long ago come back; should have been deleted, but my mind seems to consider them important. It's likely that I learned something from them, or should have learned at least. I remember my older brother Mycroft, when he suffered from anorexia nervosa. I feel a shiver shaking my body; traumatising time for minors. I really should've deleted these memories; even if they keep me from the same fate. Pah, fate. Sentiment. Everything's predictable. Isn't it? There happen to be many important factors of human life, which I can't quite grasp. But, hell! It doesn't matter to me anyway! Everything that matters to me is my work! I storm out of the bathroom of my small, dingy flat, tripping over a glass of eyeballs pickled in red wine. Another important experiment ruined. Damn it! I need more space! I can't possibly go on like this! Ah, they're back; my emotions. I'm often accused to not having any, which isn't quite true. I'm just a master of disguise. I've learned from the beginning, that my feelings are nobody's business, but mine; they make people blind and subjective and...

My phone buzzes. Lestrade. The body he wanted me to examine is snow free. I feel the muscles around my mouth tense into a grin. Yes, feel great. The adrenaline that is now in my bloodstream makes my body well again, dives the numbness away, and forces my eyes to focus. Just like some years ago, the only difference is, that, back then, it hadn't just been adrenaline.

There are steps out in the corridor. They're two. Both male. One of them is heavy; the other one's rather small. From the impertinent clicking that comes closer together with these men, I gather that one of them walks with a cane. Injured. The voices become audible. Stamford and another man. Of course! It has to be a friend of his. My audio-memory immediately plays the dialogue I had had with Mike earlier this day. It makes me unable to gather more evidence about the second man. Stupid! If I'm right, I need to impress him. The need for a bigger flat has become inevitable for me, so has the need for a flat share. Door opens. I send my last e-mail. The two men behind me keep talking. Ah. The other man is an army-doctor. Impressive. Chances are high, that he isn't such a jerk from . Maybe even useful, or half what intelligent. There's an error with the landline, so I can't send the last mail. I have to borrow Mike's phone. I ask for it. Stranger interferes. I'm not sure how to react. Am I really expected to start off with something as dull as "thank you"? Obviously. I send the text. I was right; Mike has brought him to introduce him to me, because of the flat. I focus on impressing him. I can read from his face, that he is puzzled. And...annoyed? No. Wrong! He has to like me. Tell him what you know about him! Something isn't quite right. He's still annoyed. Just answer his questions, and be cool. I don't have to think long about what to say. I just let my brain do the work as always. "The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Bakerstreet."

I can hear myself speak the words, but everything's become unreal. I need to go away; my body NEEDS energy. The adrenaline has left my system, but I still can't turn off the smile on my face as I lean against the wall of the elevator. This man, Dr. John Watson, is far from dull; very far.


	2. Chapter 2

My eyes open abruptly. I can hear London moving outside; can feel its pulse but I'm not a part of it. I can't sleep. Insomnia keeps me from charging my body with new energy. An unconscious sigh escapes my throat as I make my way into my bathroom again. I still have trouble focusing; had to skip dinner for multiple reasons. I can see my own face in the mirror, but it looks different; like a stranger. I can't help it, but deducing myself. _Pale skin, problems with blood sugar. Blood circuit in bad state. Eyes seem distant, unable to concentrate , heavy breathing pattern. First signs of anorexia. Weight is alright. Dark rings under eyes. Eyes reddened. _No need to worry. I am fine. Never have been better. Tomorrow, everything will change. The words of my future landlady come back to my mind. Feelings of sympathy. I can't stand my own face anymore. I open the window. The cool air makes my body shiver. I don't care. Why should I? I see the cars and hear their horns and sirens. The lights of the nightly city awake a deep desire in my mind. A desire to go out there, and be a part of London. This longing forces me to close the window and get dressed.

The moment I step outside, my brain starts to observe. I see everything; hear everything. There are millions of different cents floating around in the air. I can classify almost every one of them. Once again, a grin plays around my face. London is restless, it never sleeps, but yet, it sees everything, and knows every little, dirty secret of its inhabitants and all its tourists. Just some reasons why I love this city. I know there is no chance of sleep tonight, so I just wander off, exploring, updating my mental map.

I watch the day break. Yellow. Orange. Red. Pink. Turquoise. Green. Blue. Gray. I look down on my watch. Time to leave. My face forms a loathing grimace, as I look one last time at my, now former, home. My concentration is on my prospective flat-mate. There he is. Try to be nice! I estimate the options I have. Ah. He addresses me by my surname. Offer him first name. Good, he seems to be pleased. Now things go as they should. Movement in front of me. Door opens. It's Mrs. Hudson, beaming at both of us. Well. She thinks the doctor and I are in a romantic relationship. Interesting. Joy overtakes me. I can afford it. I have a new flat and a somewhat usefull, possible colleague; easy. I stop. The only thing that would make the day perfect would be a case. Because without work my brain rots.


	3. Chapter 3

I head up the stairs. Now there's plenty of space, even with the piles of boxes, spread across the whole apartment. Considering the financial and psychic state of this Dr. Watson, he can't afford not to move in. A perfectly right deduction, as is proved now. He walks around the living room, barely looking anywhere else. Doesn't dare to refuse, in lack of money. Only possibility that comes in handy. Wait! No. He believes that the boxes belong to the previous owner of the flat. Wrong! I have to explain; straighten things up. A bit. Doctor sits down, makes himself at home. Very good. I look out of the window. Observing. A police car approaches my flat. Our flat. The only persons who know this address: Dr. Watson, DI Lestrade...and, of course, my brother. Didn't tell him; don't need to. Therefore, Lestrade it is. The only thing for what the police would need me for are the serial suicides. They shouldn't have declined my expertise before. But if they want me now, there has to be something else. Something's different this time. A fourth suicide and something's wrong. Perfect. Lestrade approaches me. He doesn't waste time with needless words. Explains the situation quickly. Have to accept. It's a great case. My pride keeps me from coming with him right now. Yes! This day couldn't be any better! It's mostly dopamine that makes me jump and shout "It's Christmas!"

Oh. Of course! I need an assistant, and I know exactly how to convince him. A freshly released dose of adrenaline makes my heart pound heavy in my chest. It's a deafening sound. My voice sounds distant, but I know exactly what to say to get the soldier on my side. A realisation comes to my mind. This thought is as distracting as its...reassuring. In the future, I will need this man; weather I like it or not. He has got certain qualities which can help me. This man can change my perspective.


	4. Chapter 4

He looks at me. They always do, when they've got questions. A faint grin enters my face. The utmost confusion lies in this man's expression. He asks his first question. Dull. The other one's the one I expected him to ask. I can prove my expertise again, and convince him to help me. I can also show off. On the other hand, I believe, that I couldn't impress him any more than he already is. I explain my work, by elucidating my deductions on him. Even now, he stays impressed. Wrong! No. Not wrong. Unusual. He likes me? Interesting. I try to pass a joke. He laughs. Still, the rest of the taxi ride is carried out in silence. I have got something wring in my deductions. It happens more often than I am willing to admit. I get out of the cab. I need to know what mistake I made! Ah. Of course! The engraving on his phone. It's his sister's phone! I should have known it from the model! Average phone for an approximately thirty year old, female person. My anger doesn't last long, because the thing I see becomes more important, than one fact I missed. Oh those idiots! How can they possibly expect me to do my work, when they ruin so many evidences! The path that leads to the old house is completely trampled. A hoard of bulls couldn't have caused any more damage. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Greeting, o holiest of readers!  
**

**I can't even imagine the amount of apologies I owe you, for not writing for so long, but I really, absolutely had a stressful time, so I fall to my knees, as I beg for your forgiveness! O.o**

**I hope you like this new chapter, even though it's short. I promise, that I'll do my best to update more often in the future... ok? :)**

**Again: Thank you sooo much for your patience! :3**

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I can't stop the deductions streaming into my head, like a computer, that is downloading data and cookies, whether it wants it or not. In my case it could also be called the power of habit. It took me nine years to train my senses on taking up my surroundings like this. Nothing escapes my eyes, even though they're tired. Of course I also see things that aren't in the least related to my work, such as the fresh relationship between Anderson and this Donovan person. What was her full name? Oh, right. Sergeant Sally Donovan? Why ever I have kept this information...  
Ah, perfect, Anderson approaches me. What a narrow-minded clot.

Even though irritating people can be very informative and funny at times, I've lost five precious minutes on them. Inside the old building, DI Lestrade welcomes me; us (I never forgot Dr. Watson, I even heard his sideline-remarks, but I didn't distinguish them with a reaction. Too dull. Too supersticious) in giving me the most obvious facts and guiding us to the room where the body had been found. Behind us, Anderson is also making his way up to our group. This is going to be fun. A smirk appears on my face, even though nobody is looking at me.

I enter the room. Five letters are looking at me, obviously scratched into the floor by the woman; now a corpse. R. A. C. H. E... of course the first thing that comes to my mind is the German noun for revenge, but the fingers of the body tell me otherwise. The way she holds her hand, suggests that she hadn't finished writing. What else could she have wanted to say...um...write? A name. Rachel. The biblical figure? A relative? More likely. I'll send Lestrade on this one. Anderson raises his voice from behind, saying what has been in my head some minutes ago. His utter uselessness puts me off. I want turn off his voice, and literally shut him out. I close the door. Dr. Watson's expression says astonishment, if not shock. I can't understand the whole fuzz about social niceties anyway. Why should one pretend to treat someone politely, if one can't stand the other person? I show my protest, in not reacting, and draw Lestrade's attention to the name. Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. I need to concentrate on what else I see; feel; observe. _Unhappily married. String of lovers. Job in the media. Obsessed with fashion. Perfectionist. Clever. Rachel. Stains of mud. Umbrella. Rain. Collar. . Cardiff. PINK!_


End file.
